Some are born of flesh and bone, and some are born of Fiction.

Monthly Archives: December 2014

Aunt Lacey is a living legend. She walks the streets with a stride as wide as a century. Even her skin is greying now to match her neat white afro, yet the sun never stops radiating from her cells – the cells of a fighter. She is woman. Forever smiling, forever seeking, forever striding.

Blue Jeans burns in the space between my iphone and my ears, Lana’s voice igniting the acid that came up through my gut to my brain and that now drips out of my eyes. Good. I needed this. I needed to purge myself of the sinful memory of your affection. I could’ve taken a run; I know a field nearby. But instead my heart will race a marathon right from my bed. Uncomfortably comfortable, I drench myself once again in words and words and words…the only entity that makes this pain worth experiencing. I’m closing a chapter of my heart, a heart I wasn’t even aware had re-opened. And you…what are you? I never knew. We never know. We are always travellers inter-railing across the lives of people we wish we could understand and claim as our own. But we will never understand nor own anyone. So I pick up my rucksack filled with an extra set of french knickers, a can of body spray and a toothbrush, and I tell you goodbye. Goodbye with a steely back, but an open wound for a chest. That’s why I don’t turn around fully to look at you, in case you learn how deeply I’ve begun to lay down visions and desires like roots in this foreign land. But I chop at them with my chipped nails, extricating myself from the groundwork my emotions have made. I watch my roots wilt on the soil, like children begging their emotionally unengaged mother to stay. They’re weeping. But so am I. I’m weeping and wailing because it took but days to fall, and I survey the monstrous climb ahead and I long to stay. But your land is no good for me. It’s the rationale that the mind understands, but that the heart never will. Help me. Help me to turn every curve and edge of myself away from you. But the songs. John Legend. How will he let me forget?

Does it disappoint you that you don’t have to face that drama that you’ve always felt must fall upon you some day? Does it disappoint you that the opportunity to tell them you told them so has passed you by again? Surely something must come of these hospital appointments and intrusions. Of course you would cry. It would hit you like a ton of lumps. The course of your life completely changed. But when illness comes, or other uncontrollable life alterations such as pregnancy, suddenly you recognise that you are powerless – the choices have already been made for you. And there is something satisfying in this. No more struggling with making decisions, no more self-indulgent concerns about what you’re going to do. Suddenly you just have to live…or die.

My mouth hangs open salivating and saying sorry at the same time. I want you, but I shouldn’t. They say that I don’t have to give you up, but I will feel better if I do. How can it be that you are not good for me? An intoxication? A corruption? When you dissolve in my mouth and slide down my throat with such ease? I miss you already. I’ll miss you forever. You’ll pop up in every meal and snack. I won’t be able to avoid the memory of you, all of our memories. You’ve consoled me, delighted me, been an enduring friend to me. I haven’t even noticed you there sometimes bringing me silent pleasure. That’s why I know you are special. They say that sooner or later in life the ones you love you lose. Apparently loving you has always been wrong, but how on earth can I now be right?